


life throws a wrench and i throw a dagger

by thatsnotweirdright



Category: Brawlhalla (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, a lot of things will hurt later though, its a surprise tool that will hurt you later, i’ll update them as i write and post chapters, man i am so bad at writing realistic dialogue, no beta we die like jiro, some good old jiro & shadow interactions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 12:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsnotweirdright/pseuds/thatsnotweirdright
Summary: Jiro can get used to this kind of afterlife. It’s quite nice, really. Lots of fun battles, personalized training ground, even a miracle worker blacksmith! The only thing that would make this better would be if that asshole quit leaving trademark roses all over his stuff.Or: In which Jiro dies. A lot. Caspian is just kind of there. Oh and Kaya, too, I guess.
Relationships: Jiro & Shadow(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	life throws a wrench and i throw a dagger

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this is the same fic as before. i just went back and did some changes and decided it would be easier to start over. and honestly, there’s a chance i’ll get frustrated and delete this one too. but i like my idea (and my artfully crafted storyboard. maybe i’ll post it once i finish the fic. uncensored of course) so just be on the look out for the same title or a close variation. i did some editing on the first part so you might want to just skim over it again because things will make more sense later on. and now that my notes are longer than the actual chapter, enjoy~

It definitely hurt before but it's not so bad, Jiro thinks. Dying, that is. He is slipping far too fast to really fear the gaping maw of nothingness that yawns before him and he's only just lucid enough to register a small twinge of pain that lances through his throat. Maybe for others—when death is neither silent nor quick, when the world around them is simultaneously too much and not enough, when they have the time to _think_ and to _feel_ —it could be restless and loud and terrifying. For Jiro, though, it is peaceful and calm, the complete opposite of how he had lived his life. He can't find it within himself to hate it. He doesn't think he possesses the strength to. But that's fine. What good would either strength or hate do him now?

“-sama! _Jiro-sama!_ "

Jiro tilts his head to the side, following the dim and faded voice. It sounds familiar, but he can't quite place it...

“Jiro-sama, stay awake. Stay with us!"

Ah. Only Fujiki would babble like that. As he talks, he allows his voice to coax him away from the void. Its pull doesn't diminish completely, but Jiro somehow finds it within himself to resist for a while longer. Little by little, the world begins to filter through again and he inhales deeply. He blinks as Fujiki's figure clears and he can see his scrunched eyebrows, pinched mouth, and bright eyes.

"You will be just fine, just hold out until the healer Keiji arrives," he is saying, fluttering about around his body. Checking over his many, many wounds and trying to decide which one needs immediate attention, no doubt. He has half a mind to tell him not to bother, but he'd probably ignore him anyway.

Jiro feels a languid smile curl his lips, but distantly, as if he's still not entirely present. It should probably concern him more. It doesn't. He blinks, wondering if it will dispel the black haze creeping back across his conscious. It also doesn't. He wants to feel frustrated but, well, unsurprisingly he doesn't. His eyes slip shut. He's tired. Can he sleep now?

“No! Jiro-sama!"

How rude. The _shinobi_ pries his eyes open, fixing the blurry outline of his panicking _kage_ in the center of his vision. "Fujiki," he says, slightly exasperated. "We both know I'm not going to last long enough for Keiji-san."

His voice comes out raspy and choked and he feels rather than sees Fujiki flinch. His senses sharpen for a fleeting moment. The remaining portion of the army must still be looking for him to make sure he's dead. Ignoring the pressure that builds behind his eyes, Jiro collects the tattered remains of his magic and erects a shaky concealment shield. At least for now, he won't be disturbed. He sighs and slumps against Fujiki's thighs, blinking to clear away his headache. There's the taste of iron on his tongue and a wet sucking and gurgling sensation that comes from the general area of his throat. His entire body aches and a very specific emptiness is coming from his left hand. General Akusuma really did a number on him, he notes dryly even as he sinks back into his numbed state. Still, judging by the amount of movement—which is none—coming from Akusuma's body, Jiro will say that he won. He chuckles sarcastically to himself. Who knew victory could taste exactly like one particularly bloody shade of red?

“Don't talk like that," Fujiki mumbles. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine. As soon as Healer Keiji or maybe Eiko..."

Fujiki trails off and Jiro allows himself a slight grin. He sees a hazy sort of understanding begin to line Fujiki’s face and his grin widens just a bit.

“Master," Fujiki says, carefully choosing his words. "Why am I the only _kage_ summoned?"

Jiro hums and shrugs the shoulder that will move. "Isn't it obvious?"

Fujiki's face scrunches with confusion and Jiro takes pity on him. He lifts his left hand between them and shakes and twitches with the effort. Fujiki must see the strain because he catches his hand and supports it with poorly concealed surprise.

"Master, why...!"

The shadow cuts off with a gasp, his hand slipping from his grasp. Jiro winces as it thuds to the ground. He tucks it to his chest and cradles the arm protectively with a pointed glare in Fujiki's direction. "Ow," is all he says.

The _kage_ is not paying attention, though. "Jiro-sama, your hand! It's..."

Jiro snorts ungracefully. "Destroyed, busted, distorted, ugly?" he supplies.

Fujiki sticks out his bottom lip and narrows his eyes. "I was going to say broken."

"Right. Well, in any case, that's exactly what it is. Not much to do about it, really."

Fujiki's eyes widen. "You can't summon any healer _kage_."

Jiro mouth quirks. "Bingo."

“Wait, then how come it's only me and not also the warrior class _kage_ you can still summon with your right hand?"

Fujiki levels Jiro with a look. He offers a sheepish grin and shivers despite the bright sun shining overhead, refusing to wonder exactly why he feels so cold. He knows why. There's no need to wonder.

“I could try to summon them," he acknowledges. "But assuming I don't unnecessarily worsen my wounds with the strain it would put on me, what are the chances that it would do anything worth the risk? Would it really be worth it?"

Fujiki opens his mouth to object, but Jiro cuts him off. "No. Besides, as my original _kage_ , the strain on me to summon you was significantly less than for any other _kage_."

Jiro coughs, dislodging the blood pooling in the back of his throat and he thinks maybe he hears something shatter. The thought is gone before he can make much sense of it, so he doesn't try. There are other matters to attend to. Like the blood that splatters across his chin and chest. If Jiro were a more poetic type, he'd even go as far as describe it as fitting. He spent his entire life spilling blood, and here he is ending it the same way. Actually, that's pretty good. Someone write that down.

Fujiki hovers over him, hands held out in front like he's not quite sure what to do with them. That is probably true. While Jiro knows Fujiki has at least a basic understanding of field medicine in theory, that's all that it is. By the time Jiro actually struck out on his own, to where his injuries couldn't be healed by the family healer, nor were they small enough to require only a simple bandage wrap, he already had a _kage_ with some specific and in depth healing knowledge within his command.

Fujiki rests his hands on the parts of Jiro's stomach that aren't riddled with holes, jolting him from his thoughts. He smiles, placing his good hand over them. The _shinobi_ can tell his shadow is fighting back tears, always has been able to, and he pats the hands underneath his.

The void calls for him again and it is much harder to resist this time. He's not sure he wants to, either. In all honesty, Jiro is tired. Pain flares in his throat and he struggles to breathe properly. It wouldn't be bad to let go here. His most recent contract is already complete and he hasn't had the time to accept another. He's tired of that, too. Money is money, but he's tired of the senseless murders so many clients ask of him. Few jobs offer him a sense of moral righteousness anymore. Although maybe he lost the rights to his morality years ago. He wouldn't be surprised if he has.

"Jiro-sama."

The _shinobi_ opens his eyes—when had he closed them?—and hums. Fujiki's expression is pained, most likely experiencing the effects of his master's deteriorating health in full now. Jiro can feel the _kage_ within his actual shadow thrashing, fighting to be let out, but Jiro lacks the strength to break them past the thin yet strong magic barrier that separates them from the outside world. The barrier will remain until his soul detaches from his body completely. It's a part of what keeps his shadows tethered to him. Fujiki watches his physical shadow, wincing. His connection, at least, seems to still be intact. Jiro reaches out with his link to his _kage_. It meets a dead end. His soul is no longer earthbound enough to connect to them like he used to. He expected as much, but it still shatters something inside him. It's ironic, though. He is just dead enough to separate his soul from their life forces, but still alive enough to trap them within it. Jiro grits his teeth bitterly.

"Tell them," Jiro croaks out and then pauses. "Tell them I'm sorry. I can't... I can't reach them anymore."

Fujiki nods and retrieves one of his hands to dip into his shadow. He doesn't remove his hand—Jiro suspects he can't anyway—even as the shadow stills. Jiro expects Fujiki to slip into his shadow, to be with the rest of their family for the last time, but he doesn't. He is surprised, but another, more selfish part of him is happy. He hates himself for it.

"They know," Fujiki says, sounding choked. "They understand."

He refuses to meet Jiro's eyes so the _shinobi_ closes them. He inhales as deeply and smoothly as he can and allows his body to relax with the exhale, as if boneless. It feels good, freeing almost, like letting go. "Then that's all that I can ask."

Jiro's eyes fly open when he feels a slight pressure over him. He catches the shadowy and wispy edges of Fujiki's body that's draped over his, face buried in his chest, from his limited span of vision. Cautiously, as if soothing a wild animal, Jiro reaches up a hand and places it on his back. He almost retracts, startled, when Fujiki twitches suddenly.

"I'm sorry!" Fujiki hiccups, voice muffled. "We're sorry, Jiro-sama!" _For not protecting you better, for letting that bastard get close to you, for all of it._

The words aren't spoken out loud, but Jiro hears them all the same. It squeezes his soul painfully. He slides the hand not currently on Fujiki's back to the ground where a slip of his shadow is visible. The force of the _kage_ pressing against the barrier is tangible and Jiro can feel the shadow's edge distend slightly into his hand. Something within his heart settles, like an itch scratched or a rock removed from a shoe. His fingers spark with the last of his cloudy magic, curling into the shadow and hoping they can sense it.

"—did more. I wish I could do more," Fujiki mumbles into his chest.

Jiro hums. "Fujiki."

The _kage_ peeks an eye out. Jiro forces his lips to curl into a smile. He doesn't know if he manages more than a grimace, but it also doesn't really matter. His words will do the rest. "You are already doing enough."

"How?" And Fujiki's voice sounds so pained, so remorseful. Jiro can't help the twitch of his fingers, and he doesn't try to. Instead, he digs them into Fujiki's back, a constant, reminding pressure.

"Well," he says, meeting Fujiki's eye unwaveringly. "I'm not dying alone, am I?"

There's a pause before Fujiki huffs out a breath. "No. I suppose not."

Jiro nods, letting his head fall. He stares at the midday sun for as long as he dares before the void's calls are too much and his eyes slip shut. The black it offers is cool and almost welcoming. Jiro greets it.

 _Hello, Jiro_ , it replies.

—————

"Hello, Jiro," a voice calls softly.

The _shinobi_ lays still, soaking up the lovely warmth of the afternoon. He thinks, maybe far off into the distant, someone is screaming.

"Hello?" the smooth voice calls again, louder but still soft around the edges. Easily ignored, but annoying. The scream fades away.

He grumbles, halfheartedly waving the voice away. He's tired, and the sunshine feels too nice. Is this heaven? It must be heaven. Yes, that sounds right. Jiro must have done something right in his life to earn such a nice napping spot. He hasn't been this relaxed since never. Why can't he just... sleep... maybe forever...

"Jiro!" It is, Jiro discovers, awfully difficult to sleep when someone yells your name.

The man jolts up, eyes wide. It's dark—hey, who turned off the Sun?—to the point where he imagines it would be hard to make out his own hand in front of his face, but he doesn't have the luxury of time to figure out why that might be. He reaches for the sword at his hip, crouching defensively. "Who's there?" he yells, raising his blade. "Show yourself!"

The voice chuckles. Jiro narrows his eyes, splitting his sword in two and reversing his grip before switching it back again. It's a grounding sort of nervous habit, but Jiro has been told that it looks quite impressive so he never bothered to break it and, well, neither did anybody else.

A blinding light explodes across his vision, and he flinches back just slightly. He refuses to cower away but when his eyes readjust and he can look without risking his eyesight, he kind of wants to. The _shinobi_ isn't one to be intimidated—hasn't been since he was young and trained in the family dojo—but the brilliant warrior in front of him is by no means someone to be ignored nor ignorantly trifled with. She is beautiful, otherworldly and glowing. An elegant spear rests idly in her hand and her armor is obviously of the highest quality and well kept, with not even a smudge marring the metal. And that's only just the warrior; Jiro has no words to describe her winged, ethereal mount. An angel, he decides. She must be an angel.

"Your movements are sharp," the woman says, proud and self-confident as she dismounts. "As expected of a Valhalla warrior."

"Uh." Jiro glances to the side, which is another nervous habit that apparently adds to his shifty reputation, and just slightly allows his guard to drop. Nothing enough to significantly put him at a disadvantage, but just a simple, small loosening of his muscles. She appears to be harmless enough as far as intentions go but that spear looks awfully painful and Jiro would prefer she doesn't poke any more holes in him. "Are you talking to me?"

The angelic warrior laughs heartily, throwing her head back and leaning on the horse at her side. It snorts and paws at the ground but otherwise keeps Jiro focused almost eerily within its gaze.

"Why, of course!" the woman affirms after she calms down enough to speak, wiping her eyes. "Who else?"

Jiro condenses and sheathes his sword, deeming the woman, for now, not a threat. "Anyone else? I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm not a Valhalla warrior."

The woman hums, plunging the spear butt into the ground—despite there being no earth for it to sink into and that is definitely not something Jiro is going to try to unpack anytime soon—and pulls out a small, white and gold booklet. "Well, that's true for the time being, I suppose. But you are still a candidate and I have no doubt you will accept my proposal."

Jiro cocks his head. "Huh?" He shook his head. "Wait, no. I have no idea what you're saying, but I am a _shinobi_. Say it with me now. _Shi-no-bi_."

The angel warrior chuckles. "I know who you are. As for me, I am Njosill, a Valkyrie of Valhalla and an emissary of Odin."

A screen of sorts flickers into existence behind and above her head. As she speaks, images flash on the screen. There is one of other warriors armored like Njosill, some holding slender spears while others drape intimidating battle axes across their shoulders. He watches the images, curious.

"Gensoujin Jiro, a child of the Twilight Realm, _shinobi_ of the Gensoujin clan, and masterful _kagekīpā_."

The images change, now displaying his own startled face. Dimly, Jiro notes how he looks normal and healthy, maybe even a year or two younger. Huh, strange.

"I have been sent to offer you a place in Valhalla, known commonly as the warrior's paradise. Here, you would be free to traverse our diverse lands and participate in the Grand Tournament, an event I am certain you would enjoy. Of course, we do not accept just anyone."

He says nothing. The warrior flips a page.

"The most notable achievements of yours include multiple assassinations of highly ranked officials, including nine _shoguns_..."

She proceeds to list the shoguns and a play-by-play of his, er, efforts flicker across the screen. Wait, if she's going to read off every significant battle and if his actions are playing for him to see... This might get out of hand. Jiro needs to put a stop to this before the warrior finds something he'd rather never sees the light of day again. "Hey now just wait a second..."

"The most recent includes the skirmish against General Akusuma..."

Jiro cringes, raising his hands and waving them frantically in front of him. The screen flashes alarmingly. He was actually afraid she'd bring up something from his training days, but this is so much worse. "Yeah, let's maybe skip over that—"

"... in which you fought valiantly. However, in the end—"

Jiro can't bring himself to look at the screen and the mortification that creeps white hot up his cheeks might actually kill him again. He has little interest in what might be his dead body on the screen and instead ducks his head with a hand pressed to his forehead.

"In the end, I died because my wounds were too deep. Great, perfect; can we skip this part please?" he draws out the last word. When the woman shoots him a look, he quickly adds, "This literally happened less than half an hour ago, I think I can remember what happened."

The warrior hums. Mercifully, she doesn't seem inclined to give more details on that particular event and the screen doesn't manifest into his mind or anything, so Jiro counts it as a crisis averted. He heaves a sigh of relief and looks up at the warrior and, for a brief moment, he thinks he sees pity in her eyes as she watches him. But that's impossible, so he quickly clears the thought from his mind. The expression is gone by the time he checks twice anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

"Valhalla is equipped with training facilities, by the way," the warrior notes offhandedly, flipping another page.

Apparently, mercy does not mean she won't absolutely destroy his ego. Jiro flinches, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He really needs to change the subject before his pride is reduced to shreds. "So, how does this Grand Tournament work?"

Njosill's grin is positively predatory. "If you agree to come to Valhalla, you'll see."

Jiro narrows his eyes. Njosill has been nothing but amicable thus far, but something about being goaded into an agreement whose conditions he knows very little about by his curiosity rubs him the wrong way. Still, from what he's learned, it is not a bad option. As opposed to what, he's not sure, but he can probably find out. Njosill seems eager to help him out, probably in order to bring him to Valhalla but Jiro will definitely use every tool he can.

The _shinobi_ hums and shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. The absence of tackiness in the general area of the wounds on his chest surprises him. He notes the lack of blood warmth, too. Actually, he can't feel any sort of body heat either. It makes sense that he wouldn't; he is dead, after all. Still, it's a bit disconcerting, not having any warmth but also not feeling cold. He metaphorically shakes his head, shoving that train of thought to the furthest corner of his mind (right next to the spear-in-no-ground thing) with firm resolution. Both of them can be dealt with another day, maybe one where he isn't newly deceased.

"Okay," he says. Njosill perks up, reminding Jiro of the puppies he used to play with when he could spare the time. He will always be a cat person, but puppies are just too cute to resist. "But tell me what exactly is this place first."

Njosill snorts, swishing a hand dismissively. "Oh, that's easy. This is Valkyrie's Domain. We Valkyries can only access the mortal realm through this little pocket of time and space whe—"

Her eyes flicker to something behind him and Jiro has all of two seconds to prepare himself.

" _JIRO-SAMA!_ "

Jiro whirls on his heels, right as a _kage_ —he's not sure which one because they come barreling in way too fast for Jiro to see—crashes into him with a body more solid than Jiro ever remembers one having. It hurts and Jiro goes down in a tumble of shadows, all of them clamoring for his attention or even just a piece of him to hold on to. With this physical contact, their connection snaps satisfyingly back into place all at once, soothing an empty hole within Jiro that he had almost succeeded in ignoring. Relieved tears well in his eyes, but if anyone saw it they will all swear otherwise.

"Hey, hey!" Jiro looses a watery laugh, shouting over their clashing voices. "Did you guys miss me that much? Fujiki told you the situation before I died, yeah? Sorry I couldn't reach you there at the end, but don't be too mad at me! I did try!"

"But Jiro-sama—"

"—we sa—"

"—but it was too—"

"—and then we—"

"—and then _you_ —"

"—and we are so sorry, Master!"

Jiro fights to prop his elbows underneath himself, brows furrowed. "Ah, what...?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Eiko—wait, when did he leave? Jiro swears he was just full-body attached like a leech to his arm—bowing to Njosill. Eiko turns, as if sensing eyes on him, and trots back to the _kage-shinobi_ dog pile. Jiro opens his mouth, but Eiko's shadowy elbow that lands squarely on his stomach as he hops back in punches the air right out of him. He wheezes and Fujiki instantly jumps out of the pile to usher the shadows off of Jiro. He takes a grateful gulp of air. Who knew shadows could be so heavy? Maybe they should go on a diet. He voices as much when he stands again, earning himself a chorus of indignant shouts as he snickers.

"So," Eiko starts. "We're going to Valhalla?"

Jiro chances a glance at Njosill. She's watching them with a small, amused grin and meets his gaze steadily. He shrugs, turning back to his shadows. "I suppose so."

"What exactly is Valhalla?" Hachiro asks from beside Jiro. Other _kage_ murmur their agreement.

"Warrior paradise, apparently."

If Jiro thought Njosill's grin was predatory, then his shadows' expressions are absolutely feral.

He snorts, signaling to Njosill without turning around. "Guess that's a yes from us, then."

Njosill places a hand on her heart, relieved. This is going to look great on her profile.


End file.
